


Samuel Lawrence Is A Morosexual

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: F/F, Fluff, M/M, Sammy is a Morosexual, as well as writing a bit on one of my favourite ships, its honestly just an excuse to describe my studio boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 05:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20109925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: The grumpy director of Joey Drew Studios has a terrifyingly idiotic crush.





	Samuel Lawrence Is A Morosexual

Samuel Lawrence had a pointy nose and nearly black hair that he pulled far too back and suffocated in a bun right underneath his nape. His resting face included, usually, eyebrows furrowed angrily accompanied by an upset frown; often he would even have some sort of shade falling on his forehead, making him seem excessively grim. His cheeks were kind of shallow, his ears thin and long, and his eyes were clear to the point nobody could tell what color they were or had been, as if the hue had washed out and left only white.

Such a long unflattering description was necessary so that it could be clear to everyone that, very simply, he wasn’t the most beautiful man.

Oh, he did have a most sublime voice made of the only best among silk, velvet and chiffon, and when he directed the band he did so with an incredible care for the position of every little piece of his body, even the most forgotten ones.

He dressed as nicely as any respectable working man, and though he did smoke it was never excessively, for he despised the foul odor and wanted nothing around him to smell of burnt nicotine. He would choose a cigarette from the pack and take a single drag; then he would put it out so he could light it again if he needed it.

All in all, he was nice. It was just that he, much like the manager of the Studios, had knack for being annoyed most of the time.

Usually, the annoyance came from Joey.

And when it wasn’t from Joey directly, it was from something that through more or less convoluted reasonings could be traced back to Joey, his idiocy, his impulsiveness, or even just his general character.

It seemed the only things that could bring even a tad of joy to the musician could all be found cramped almost possessively in his little restlessly noisy department: the music, the instruments, the band, Jack with his way to put words on paper so perfectly, Susie and her wonderful tones, and, although rarely, _Walter_.

Many times had Sammy heard throughout his youth of the evil behind the very idea of men loving those of their own sex. But how could those people truly believe such clearly unfaithful defamations when God had given life to a creature such as Walter? How could they even think for a moment that loving a man like Walter Roxanne Franks, whom Sammy was sure had been created with the sole purpouse of being loved fully and unconditionally, could have been seen in the eyes of the Lord as sin?

The boy had the smooth round face of a five-year-old child and hair like ruffled feathers of dark blonde - or was it light brown? He couldn’t pay enough attention to tell the difference, too caught up in his hazelnut eyes. And his smile! So wide and gleeful - it could have sent Samuel in a cardiac arrest if he wasn’t careful with it. He was utterly angelic under every aspect.

But perhaps, and the musician was ashamed to admit it, the most endearing thing about him was his incredible, unmeasurable stupidity.

He’d never forget the day Wally had run up to him, utterly distressed about the loss of his cap. Sammy had looked at him for the longest minute of both their lives. He had reached above the soft locks of the other man, careful not to lay a fingertip on it, grabbed the hat’s visor, and presented the lost garment to the speechless janitor. When the boy had reached for it, he’d gently yanked it further away from him.

“Franks,” he’d said, “Is your head still on top of your neck, or did you manage to lose that as well?”

Wally had actually pondered his words. He’d even checked, hands going to locate his own cheeks and neck before replying: “Nope, it’s still there, sir.”

“Then make sure it _stays_ there.”

“I’ll try my best, Mr. Lawrence.”

And off he’d gone, nearly running out of the department entirely when the director’s voice called for him again. The way he’d turned red when he noticed the hat was still in the musician’s hand, and how he’d apologized softly as he got it back, slightly embarassed -

Sammy had to put a hand on his beating heart to still it everytime that scene came to mind.

An imbecile. He was an imbecile. The greatest fucking tool to have ever breathed air. The biggest cretin to have walked upon the soil of this very Earth. A fool of extraordinary proportions who should have not survived up until the second year of age and instead somehow managed to get to the twentieth.

Dear God how much he loved him.

“I detest him.” he muttered.

“Sure you do.” Susie replied, not even looking at him as she carefully applied her lipstick and tortured one of her black curls, trying to figure out if such a shade would have delighted the lovely ginger voice actress who had just been hired.


End file.
